Showing posts with label Jan van Eyck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jan van Eyck. Show all posts

Sunday, November 23, 2025

Art Eyewitness Book Review: Great Art Explained by James Payne

Great Art Explained

By James Payne

Thames & Hudson/320 pages/$39.95

Reviewed by Ed Voves

The first great work of art which I ever saw was likely the greatest I ever will see. 

The date was 1964 and the place was the New York World's Fair. The "great" work of art was The Pieta by Michelangelo. Loaned by the Vatican for the World's Fair and transported with elaborate safety measures, it was truly a moment in art history. Upon its safe return to Rome, The Pieta was declared too precious - and fragile - to ever travel again. 


Michelangelo's The Pieta at the New York World's Fair, 1964 

Viewing
The Pieta today is an experience recalling the Resurrection when Christ declared to Mary Magdalene, "Noli me tangere" ("touch me not"). Following a horrifying act of vandalism in 1971, the restored Pieta is now protected by bullet-proof glass.

For those unable to travel to Rome, Michelangelo's portrayal of martyrdom and grief can only be appreciated at second hand, via the pages of a well-illustrated book or an art video. Increasingly, such "noli me tangere" moments apply to masterpieces closer to home, like Starry Night on a crowded day at MOMA.



Ed Voves, Photo (2019)
Gallery view of the Museum of Modern Art, NYC, with
 Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night,1889, in the background

For those craving a less harried look at The Pieta, Starry Night and other "icons" of art, there is also the option of Youtube, notably the popular programs hosted by James Payne.

Payne's YouTube series, Great Art Explained in 15 Minutes, is a fantastic success. It currently offers seventy-seven insightful presentations and is closing-in on two million subscribers. Now, Payne is pursuing the more traditional method of the written word to further his efforts to "demystify" masterpieces for art lovers around the world.

Great Art Explained: the Stories behind the World's Greatest Masterpieces is published by Thames & Hudson. This is significant for two reasons. T&H has been "demystifying" art for scholars and general readers for over seventy-five years. Moreover, the signature format of T&H books, especially the World of Art paperbacks, is the close integration of word and image, precisely what Payne is doing on YouTube.



Author and publisher are brilliantly matched in a book of exceptional merit. Great Art Explained will surely please Payne's Youtube audience, as well as readers who have yet to tune in to his series. Great Art Explained succeeds on every level of art scholarship and appreciation  - and shear enjoyment.

Payne begins explaining art by examining one of the greatest works of Asian art. This is the extraordinary handscroll, Along the River during the Qingming Festival, attributed to a Chinese artist named Zhang Zeduan. 

Measuring 17 ft x 10 in. (5 metres x 25.5 cm.), Along the River dates to China's Song dynasty. It was created sometime between 1085-1145, the high point of Song rule in Northern China. 


Detail from a copy, c. 18th century, after Zhang Zeduan's Along the River during the Qingming Festival, Song Dynasty, 1085-1145

Zeduan's painting, ink on silk and paper, is a tribute to prosperity and  political stability, real or imagined. The throng of tiny citizens may inhabit an idealized depiction of the city of Bianjing, but this is the ideal upon which civilizations are based.

Along the River during the Qingming Festival has been regarded as a national treasure of China almost since its completion. Numerous copies have been made over the centuries. One of these, a colorized version, is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.



Jan van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434

By contrast, there are only two protagonists - and two reflected figures - in Payne's next selection, The Arnolfini Portrait. Painted by Jan van Eyck in 1434, this is a work of startling immediacy. Rich fabrics, a brass chandelier, the ornate mirror, expensive oranges ripening on the window sill point to a comfortable, untroubled middle class life style. Or, after a second glance, maybe not.



Detail of the mirror in Jan van Eyck's The Arnolfini Portrait. The reflected figure, dressed in blue, is believed to be Van Eyck.

The Arnolfini Portrait is one of the most mysterious works of art ever created. The symbolic meanings of its profusion of brilliantly articulated details have been endlessly debated. Nearly six hundred years after he painted it, Van Eyck is still keeping us guessing. 

Ithis a marriage portrait, as was once widely believed? If so, is the lady in green gathering her robe to suggest - or conceal - that she is pregnant? Why is there a bed in the living room? What does the hand raised in benediction signify? One radical theory holds that this gesture reveals Giovanni Arnolfini was a member of a secret religious sect.

With a palette full of insights, Payne paints a different perspective. Instead of celebrating married life or esoteric rituals, The Arnolfini Portrait is a mournful tribute to the green-clad lady of the house. Costanza Trenta married Giovanni Arnolfini in 1426, dying in 1433 - one year before Van Eyck painted their dual portrait. 

Payne concludes that this enigmatic work is actually a memorial painting for Costanza. He then proceeds to discuss a wide range of details underscoring the sad fact of her demise. He notes, for instance, that the frisky dog in the painting likely references "the common practice of placing dogs at the feet of women on late medieval tomb effigies."

The clinching argument regarding this elegiac work of art is the touching gesture at the very center of the painting. 




Payne writes of the way that Arnolfini grasps the hand of his wife:

Yet perhaps the most compelling evidence is the tentative way in which he holds her hand, as if she is on the brink of slipping away from his grasp. Ultimately, the painting can be said to embody the essence of a love that transcends even death itself.

Payne's empathetic examination of The Arnolfini Portrait is indicative of the way he treats all thirty of the works of art "explained" in his book - and the artists who created these masterpieces.

From a Renaissance allegory like Botticelli's The Birth of Venus to Hilma af Klint's pioneering Abstract works, from Hokusai's ukiyo-e print, Under the Wave off Kanagawa to the polished marble of Rodin's The Kiss, Payne expertly guides us to better appreciate these familiar images. Along the way, he pinpoints visual details we never noticed before, influential trends and ideas of which we were only dimly aware.

       



Works of Art included in Great Art Explained.
 Clockwise, from top left,  Botticelli's The Birth of Venus1485; Hilma af Klint's Group X,No. 2. Altarpiece1915; Rodin's The Kiss, 1882; Hokusai's Under the Wave off Kanagawa, 1830-33.

Payne surveys these thirty masterpieces with a judicious blend of story-telling, technical analysis and social commentary. An amazing number of little known facts are added to the mix, which enable readers to see these works of art in a new light. 

Michelangelo's Pieta is a case in point. Today, The Pieta has become a defining image of the Italian Renaissance. However, the artistic motif of the dead body of the crucified Jesus being held by his mother, Mary, originated over a century before in Germany. This motif created problems for Italian artists, who found it awkward to pose the body of a grown man in the arms of his aged mother.

Disregarding precedent, Michelangelo solved the problem by reducing the stature of Christ's body to that of an adolescent youth. Mary's physique and her billowing robes were increased in order to support the body of her dead son. 



Michelangelo's The Pieta on view in St. Peter's Basilica, Rome

Most people, viewing The Pieta hardly notice these anatomical alterations. Michelangelo was able to transform this scene of suffering, making it appear graceful and poignant - and believable. How did the 24-year old sculptor achieve this incredible balance of attributes?

Michelangelo's technical mastery is obviously the prime determinant of success. But he was able to create an emotional bond between the sculpted-marble Mary and Jesus which exists in the living hearts and souls of all humankind. 

When we behold a tragic scene such as this, we do feel pity for the stricken mother and child. But we are moved to a very great degree by a sense of identification. Viewing their tragedy, we feel a tug on the emotional umbilical chord linking ourselves and the women who gave us life.

The Pieta succeeds by directly involving the viewer in the primal human drama of love and loss. So does a vastly different work of art which Payne brilliantly probes, though the principal emotion in this painting is lust.

We are referring, of course, to Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon.



Ed Voves, Photo (2019)
Gallery view of the Museum of Modern Art, NYC,
 showing Pablo Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, 1907

Payne's "you-are-there" analysis of Les Demoiselles deserves a brief quotation, in order to show the very high caliber of his insights and narrative skill. 

Payne notes that Picasso's original design of the "Bordel d'Avignon" included two male clients - which he discarded in the finished painting. 

Payne writes:

By eradicating the men and focusing exclusively on female figures, Picasso explores a more complex relationship between sex, power, desire, the male gaze and artistic representation. With the female figures' attention directed away from the clients and towards us, the viewer, we are implicitly cast in the role of a potential client, transforming our viewing experience into an uncomfortable encounter with the act of looking and consuming the female body.



If Picasso was unsparing in shoving viewers through the brothel door- where they may or may-not wish to go - Payne responds in kind. He judges the Spanish painter with uncharacteristic severity for his personal conduct, as the "artist's deplorable treatment of women left behind a trail of destruction."

In the case of all the other artists included in Great Art Explained, there is a palpable sense of empathy between author and subject. This is especially true for the eight women artists in the book. Not only is this a significant percentage of the total number of artists "explained" by Payne, but he has included Suzanne Valadon and Hilma af Klint, along with more familiar figures like Frida Kahlo.

Valadon and af Klint were two female painters of exceptional talent, who only a decade or so, ago, scarcely merited a mention in a survey of art for general readers like Great Art Explained



Suzanne Valadon, The Blue Room, 1923

I was privileged to be able to review one of the recent exhibitions which helped to bring Valadon's oeuvre to a wider audience. This was at the Barnes Foundation in 2021 where the painting selected by Payne for focused study, The Blue Room, was prominently displayed. Payne chose wisely including Valadon and The Blue Room in Great Art Explained.

However, it is a rare art book which can escape some measure of carping criticism for picking this or that artist over one who really "deserves" to be included. Why was Monet selected rather than Manet? Turner rather than Constable? Etc., etc.

For my part, I have to question why Payne chose four Renaissance works, separated by only a few short years. Even if they were created by Botticelli,  Hieronymus Bosch, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, this seems a bit like stacking the deck. Couldn't he have found space for a painting or sculpture from the Mannerist era of the mid-1500's?



Agnolo Bronzino, Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time, 1545

After all, if ever a painting needs to be "explained", it is Agnolo Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time. I've been trying to figure-out that one for years - and I'm not even close.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved. Original photos by Anne Lloyd and Ed Voves, all rights reserved.

Introductory Image: Anne Lloyd, Photo (2017) Gallery view of Old Masters Now: Celebrating the Johnson Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Nov. 2017-Feb. 2018.

Michelangelo's The Pieta at the New York World's Fair, 1964. Vatican Slide, D-1. http://www.worldsfairphotos.com/nywf64/vatican.htm


Ed Voves, Photo (2019) Gallery view of the Museum of Modern Art, NYC, with Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night, 1889, in the background.

Cover art of Great Art Explained by James Payne, 2025. Courtesy of Thames & Hudson

Copy after Zhang Zeduan's Along the River during the Qingming Festival, Song Dynasty, 1085-1145. Copy attributed to the 18th century. Handscroll; ink and color on silk: 11 3/4 in. x 33 ft. (29.8 x 1004.6 cm) Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Jan van Eyck (Flemish, c. 1390-1441) The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434. Oil on wood: 82.2 × 60 (32 3/8 × 23 5/8). © The National Gallery, London.

A Sampler of Art Works included in Great Art ExplainedSandro Botticelli's The Birth of Venus,1485. 172.5 × 278.5 (68 × 109 6/8) © Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence; Hilma af Klint's Group X, No, 2. Altarpiece,1915. Oil and metal leaf on canvas, 238 ×179 (93 3/4 × 70 1/2). © Hilma af Klint Foundation; Auguste Rodin's The Kiss (copy) displayed at the Rodin Museum, Philadelphia; Hokusai's     Under the Wave off Kanagawa, from Thirty-six views of Mount Fuji,  c. 1830-33.
  • Woodblock print; ink and color on paper: 10 x 15 in. (25.4 x 38.1 cm) Metropolitan Museum of Art

Michelangelo (Italian, 1475-1564) The Pieta, 1499. St. Peter's Basilica, the Vatican. Marble sculpture: 174 cm × 195 cm (68.5 in × 76.8 in) Original photo by Stanislav Traykov, 2008, Creative Commons. 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet%C3%A0_(Michelangelo)

Ed Voves, Photo (2019) Gallery view of the Museum of Modern Art, NYC, showing Pablo Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, 1907. Oil on canvas: 8' x 7' 8" (243.9 x 233.7 cm) Museum of Modern Art.

Ed Voves, Photo (2021) Suzanne Valadon's The Blue Room, 1923. Centre Pompidou – Musée National d’Art Moderne/CCI, Paris, on deposit to the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Limoges. Photo taken at the Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia, 2021.

Agnolo Bronzino (Italian, 1503-1572) Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time,1545. Oil on wood: 146.1 x 116.2 cm.  © The National Gallery, London. 

Tuesday, October 31, 2023

Art Eyewitness Book Review: Earthly Delights by Jonathan Jones and Raphael by Paul Joannides


  Earthly Delights, a History of the Renaissance 

by Jonathan Jones
Thames & Hudson/336 pages/$39.95

Raphael

by Paul Joannides
Thames & Hudson/320 pages/$23.95

Reviewed by Ed Voves

The alchemy of genius during the Renaissance inspired the minds and guided the hands of Europe's painters and sculptors of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In a few short decades, artists ceased being regarded as mere craftsman or servants. Instead of wearing the livery of an arrogant duke or worldly bishop, they were clad in the aura of the "artist as hero.",

People are fascinated by flawed and troubled protagonists. The more faults and doubts, the more suffering, the more smoldering sexual desires, it seems the more public interest is generated by their lives and struggles. 

The Renaissance, as interpreted by Jonathan Jones in his just-published book, Earthly Delights, serves a heaping helping of all-of the-above. 



Jones, the art critic for the Guardian newspaper in Britain, explored the themes of private passion and creative vision in earlier books about the Renaissance in Italy. Now, with Earthly Delights, he travels to Bruges in Flanders, to Nuremberg in Germany and to Holland to examine the artistic and personal travails of Jan van Eyck, Albrecht Dürer, Hieronymus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel. Jones frequently shifts his attention, returning to their compatriots in Italy, making Earthly Delights a gripping, page-turning excursion, continent-wide in its scope.



Albrecht Dürer, Self-Portrait, 1500

North and south of the Alps, Earthly Delights focuses on the private lives and personal viewpoints of these Renaissance men - and women. Jones reveals how the embrace of the "new" - in life styles, sexuality, and free-thinking opinions - informed the sensational artistic achievements of titans like Dürer and Michelangelo, as well-as eccentric, lesser-known figures such as Piero di Cosimo.



Piero di Cosimo, Return from the Hunt, c. 1494-1500

From these introductory remarks, it might appear that the primary concern of Earthly Delights is to reinterpret the Renaissance to heighten its relevance to gender concerns of the twenty-first century. That would be a natural assumption but a misleading one. Earthly Delights is a book that is both judicious and challenging in its verdicts on the still-controversial people and events of the 1400's-1500's. 

The Renaissance, as related by Jones, was a epoch-changing reconfiguration of European culture. Jones is not alone in his estimate of the importance of the Renaissance, though some scholars maintain that the artistic and scientific developments of these centuries were little more than "late medieval" additions. Jones in Earthly Delights, like the outstanding 2019 book, The Oxford Illustrated History of the Renaissancecontends otherwise:

The 15th century was when modern history began. Renaissance perspective, with its new clarity about space and objects, played its part in that European "discovery" of the world. But before you turn away from it on that score, consider that, while some conquistadors undoubtedly cast only dead, gold-addled eyes on new lands, the drive of Renaissance culture, fueled by news from new worlds, was investigative, curious and attracted to what was different.

"Embracing the new" during the 1400's initially involved utilizing innovations in technology and technique such as the printing press and oil-based pigments. The authorized Christian content of religion and culture was little affected. The Gutenberg Bible, for instance, was printed with movable type and marketed in 1455, but made to look like a deluxe hand-copied text of sacred scripture.

As news spread of the voyage of Columbus to the "Indies", another revolutionary event occurred. In 1495. Aldus Manutius established the first modern publishing firm, the Aldine Press in Venice. Manutius dispensed with large format editions like the Gutenberg Bible. Instead, he printed small, octavo books, less expensive, easy to read and offering a great variety of titles. The resulting availability of pre-Christian authors placed a host of provocative ideas into circulation, thus challenging the once-ironclad censorship of the Christian Church. 

European scholars began questioning long-accepted wisdom. However, these "humanists", with their Aldine Press books in hand, were not the first to focus on their studies with a Renaissance perspective. Well before the first Gutenberg Bible was printed, visual artists had begun to create unsettling visions of heaven and earth and - and hell.  



Hieronymus Bosch, The Haywain, 1512-15

Jones is an astute historian, experienced in ferreting-out little-noticed details that can turn an old story or an often-seen artwork into a startling revelation. He begins with Jan van Eyck's Arnolfini Portrait, dating to 1434.

Giovanni di Arnolfini, an Italian merchant living in Bruges, is believed to be the subject of van Eyck's oil painting. This iconic work has been interpreted in many ways - a celebration of Christian marriage, a "show-off" display of mercantile wealth, a brilliant investigation of light and optics. One of the signature works in the collection of the National Gallery in London, the Arnolfini Portrait continues to pose some weighty questions.



Jan van Eyck, Arnolfini Portrait, 1434

Arnolfini is a strange, ascetic looking man and the position of his right hand is distinctly odd. He is holding his hand as if giving a religious benediction. 

For a painter like van Eyck, such a gesture should have been reserved for a Christian clergyman or a heavenly being, a saint or an angel. The depiction of God blessing Adam and Eve in Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights (the introductory image of this review) is a good example of its customary use. 

Yet, here is Giovanni di Arnolfini, a lay person and a merchant, to boot, bestowing a blessing as if he were the Pope. Dürer, in his Christlike self-portrait, painted in 1500 (above), appears to be following van Eyck's lead and Arnolfini's example.

Jones speculates that Arnolfini was a member of the heretical religious sect, the Brethren of the Free Spirit. Rejecting the need for an established church to guide souls to salvation, some of the Brethren also believed in "free" love, or, as Jones states, fornication "without guilt because they were perfectly at one with God."

To include Arnolfini in the ranks of the Brethren of the Free Spirit, based on a hand gesture, may seem to stretch the evidence a bit thin. Jones has more to prove his case.

Along with this Portrait, van Eyck is reputed to have painted Arnolfini's young wife in the same setting, this time without the layer-upon-layer of woolen robes and shifts and petticoats underneath. This portrait would thus be the first nude in European art history since antiquity and confirmation that Arnolfini and his wife belonged to the Brethren or at least engaged in some of their forbidden practices.



Willem van Haecht, The Gallery of Cornelis van der Geest, 1628

The nude portrait by van Eyck no longer exists - or has not been seen in centuries. But Jones offers substantial proof of its existence, analyzing two, crudely rendered, copies, one with occult details. He also identifies the actual work on the wall of a later painting of an art gallery in Antwerp, 1628. Peter Paul Rubens and Anthony van Dyck are shown among the host of artists and savants admiring the vast array of art works, including the Arnolfini Nude

If Jones is correct, then one of the key paintings of the Renaissance undermines many of our assumptions about art history. The "shock of the new" took place a lot earlier than Matisse and the Salon d'Automne!

Quite a number of Renaissance masterpieces challenge traditional interpretations. During the process of re-examination, evidence of the religious doubts and anxieties of their creators is often revealed. Botticelli's Mystic Nativity is a case in point.



Sandro Botticelli, Mystic Nativity, 1500

Botticelli's Mystic Nativity is one of the strangest, unnerving depictions of the birth of Jesus ever created. It is almost entirely lacking in unified composition. Three zones of activity are shown, with protagonists engaged in seemingly unrelated dramas.

At the top, a hovering choir of angels is drawn upward and away from the central action where a mournful Virgin Mary prays over the infant Jesus. Her husband, Joseph, a doddering old man, sleeps through the miraculous event. Down at the bottom, three pairs of angels and human beings grasp each other, as small devilish imps scamper around their feet.



Detail of Botticelli's Mystic Nativity, showing an inscription in Greek referencing the painting's date, 1500, to St. John's Revelations

On its own terms, this painting is almost incoherent. But Botticelli provided an explanatory banner which Jones lucidly explains. Mystic Nativity, Botticelli states was painted "at the end of the year 1500... in the half-time after the time, according to eleventh of St. John, in the the second woe of the Apocalypse, during the release of the Devil for three and a half years."

As Botticelli applied the last touch of oil paint to the canvas of Mystic Nativity, he was convinced of imminent catastrophe. He was not alone. For much of the period we call the Renaissance, the people of Europe lived in dread and expectation of the End Time.

This belief in a coming Apocalypse was not based on misplaced religious hysteria. The World had nearly ended a century before. The Great Plague, the Black Death, killed a third of Europe's population in the 1340's. Nor was the Plague a nightmare from the past. Over 30,000 people died during an outbreak in Florence, 1527-1531.

Anxiety was not limited to concerns about return of the Plague. The embrace of sexual freedom among the Brethren of the Free Spirit in Flanders and the Rhineland was matched by corresponding attitudes toward homosexuality in Italy, especially in Florence.

Homoerotic ideals certainly influenced the art of Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. Jones describes with moving conviction Leonardo's attempts to "use even more subtlety to create a face of transcendental beauty that isn't male or female but something new."



Leonardo da Vinci, Ginevera de' Benci, c. 1474-76

Jones is here describing Leonardo's depiction of the angel Uriel in The Virgin of the Rocks. We could, likewise, ascribe the same descriptors to the haunting, ethereal features of Ginevera de' Benci.

But when Leonardo later devoted the same gender ambiguity to St. John in The Last Supper, he was treading on dangerous ground. Jones writes:

Leonardo is at once highly orthodox here and completely subversive. He directly refers to the account in the Gospel - John sits at Christ's right hand because he is the disciple 'whom Jesus loved' - yet the way in which John is depicted rejects any pusillanimously 'spiritual' interpretation of the nature of that love. John is an androgynous, beautiful youth. He conforms to Leonardo's personal homoerotic inconography. He is the lover of Jesus.

Leonardo was always careful to stay in the good graces of powerful patrons, including Pope Julius II, keeping his speculative, heterodox writings unpublished. 

Leonardo succumbed to a stroke in 1519, aged 67. The next year, another, much younger, artist died: Raphael.

If Earthly Delights has one weakness, it is the relative lack of attention which Jones devotes to Raphael. This superb, thoughtful book has a lot of ground to cover and a very full cast of protagonists clamoring for attention. Yet, Raphael is, in many ways, the definitive artist of the Renaissance by virtue of the quantity and quality of his oeuvre.




Fortunately, Thames and Hudson has recently published a biography of Raphael in its prestigious World of Art series. Written by the noted historian and curator, Paul Joannides, it sets a very high standard of scholarship and should be read in conjunction with Earthly Delights.

Raphael was born in the courtly city of Urbino in 1483. He was thus not a member of the circle of artists from Tuscany - Donatello, Botticelli, Leonardo and Michelangelo - so favored by the artist/writer Giorgio Vasari, himself a Tuscan. 

According to Vasari, Raphael died from a fever brought on by "excessive" sexual indulgence. Joannides discounts this "picturesque" story and attributes Raphael's demise to overwork. Sheer exhaustion from too many demands on his time and talent claimed the life of this hugely gifted artist, especially after he took over the burdens of chief architect of the new basilica of St. Peter in Rome. 

Joannides is able to ground his study of Raphael by detailed examination of the developmental stages of major works like the fresco cycles of the Stanza della Segnatura, including the fabled School of Athens, and the design of the Sistine Tapestries. 

Raphael was a Renaissance "artist as hero." Yet even the greatest of human beings is still very human after all. We often forget or discount the limitations imposed on "immortal" artists by their fragile bodies or overwrought emotions.

And when that happens, we risk losing the secret to success of these "prodigious" Renaissance artists, as Jonathan Jones so astutely judges:

Keeping an open mind is, on their evidence, the best recipe for creative excellence.

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved

Images and cover art of Earthly Delights (2023) and Raphael (2022), courtesy of Thames and Hudson

Introductory Image: Hieronymus Bosch, Garden of Earthly Delights (detail), 1490-1500.  

Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471-1528), Self-Portrait, 1500. Oil on panel: 67.1 x 48.9 cm (26 1/2 x 19 3/8 in.) Alte Pinakothek, Munich, Germany

Piero di Cosimo (Italian, 1462-1522) Return from the Hunt, c. 1494-1500. Oil on oak panel: 82.2 x 60 cm (32.4 x 23.6 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Hieronymus Bosch (Dutch, c. 1450-1516), The Haywain, 1512-15. Oil on panel: 147.1 x 224.3 cm (58 x 88 3/8 in.) Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain.

Jan van Eyck (Flemish, 1390-1441) Arnolfini Portrait, 1434. Oil on oak panel: 82.2 x 60 cm (32 3.8 x 23. 5/8 in.) National Gallery, London

Willem van Haecht (Dutch, 1593-1637) The Gallery of Cornelis van der Geest, 1628. Oil on canvas: 99 x 129.5 cm (39 x 51 in.) Rubenshuis, Antwerp, Belgium

Sandro Botticelli (Italian, c. 1445-1510) Mystic Nativity, 1500.  Oil on canvas: 108.6. x 74.9 cm (42 7/8 x 29 1/2 in.) National Gallery, London

Leonardo da Vinci (Italian, c. 1452-1519) Ginevera de' Benci, c. 1474-76Oil on panel: 38.1 x 37 cm (15 x 14 5/8 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.


Saturday, October 31, 2020

Art Eyewitness Book Review: Autumntide of the Middle Ages by Johan Huizinga

 

Autumntide of the Middle Ages


By Johan Huizinga

Translated by Diane Webb, with an essay by Graeme Small
University of Leiden-University of Chicago Press/$69.50/691 pages

Reviewed by Ed Voves 

As World War I raged across Belgium and northern France, a Dutch historian named Johan Huizinga (1872-1945) worked on a book about the culture of these battle-scarred regions. Huizinga chose a distant era, the late Middle Ages, on which to focus. 

What Huizinga wrote about Medieval Europe had a resonance for the events of 1914-1918. Now, in the troubled twenty-first century, the Dutch scholar's historical insights are equally timely. 

Huizinga's great work, Autumn (or Autumntide) of the Middle Ages, was published a century ago in 1919. The Dutch word for autumn, Herfsttij, was chosen by Huizinga to reflect the way that the civilization of Medieval Europe  had aged, atrophied and faded away. 

This process was anything but a calm, gradual process. Europe during the 1300's-1400's was wracked by wars, plagues and revolts. 

"So fierce and clamorous was life" during the late Middle Ages, Huizinga wrote in an immortal sentence, "that it could endure the mingled odor of blood and roses."

While these calamities wreaked havoc, poets, especially at the court of the Duchy of Burgundy, diverted the minds of the aristocratic ruling class with tales of Chivalry. Even more sensational were coy, erotic poems such as Romance of the Rose. Of course, this hugely popular poem was garbed with plenty of "look-but-don't touch" symbolism. But everyone understood the life and death truths of their troubled times - regardless of how these elaborate fictions tried to disguise reality.



The Garden of Love, from the Romance of the Rose, c. 1490-1500

To gain insight into the social milieu of his topic  of study, Huizinga read widely in the literature of the 1300's-1400's. He also closely studied the masterpieces of art produced during that period. 

It needs to be emphasized that Huizinga's "required reading" of his literary sources was an heroic endeavor. Almost all of the poets and secular writers in France, Burgundy and the Netherlands during the 1300's-1400's were definitely of the second-rank - none remotely matched Chaucer or Petrarch. Many of them, like Eustache Deschamps and George Chastelain, were scarcely remembered in Huizinga's time and are chiefly known today because he discussed them!

Autumntide of the Middle Ages is the definitive book on the late Medieval era. The Dutch university where Huizinga taught, the University of Leiden, has just published a new edition of this classic work, in collaboration with the University of Chicago Press. It is a huge, brilliant volume, brimming with high quality illustrations mentioned in the text and an insightful essay detailing Huizinga's career and the reception of his magnum opus all over the world.

Of special note, Autumntide has been newly translated into English by Diane Webb.  Huizinga wrote in an occasionally idiosyncratic style, very readable, but with numerous sentence fragments. Webb succeeds to a superb degree in adhering very closely to his text while making it intelligible to contemporary, English-speaking readers. This is also true for the great mass of medieval poetry which Huizinga quoted, newly translated in a parallel text with the original, mostly French, verse.

With her impressive knowledge of Dutch language structure and the nuances of Huizinga's style, Webb has achieved wonders: a compelling version of a classic book which has stood the test of time, as will her translation.


      Title page of Autumntide of the Middle Ages, by Johan Huizinga,         published by the University of Leiden, 2020

The central event of the historical era, so brilliantly analyzed by Huizinga, was the pandemic known as the Bubonic Plague or Black Death which ravaged Eurasia and North Africa. Between 1347-1353, this dread disease killed between one-third to one-half of Europe's population. 

The Black Death reappeared at periodic intervals thereafter, insuring that a state of terror remained simmering in the hearts and minds of everyone from low-born peasant to the noblest lord. 

Huizinga wrote in great detail on the way that images, both in literature and the visual arts, insured that people were reminded that death was ever lurking, ready to snatch them away from the delights of life and love. The ghoulish, almost gleeful, depiction of cadavers and skeletons in close proximity to living, vital people was so widespread that one has to assume that such imagery satisfied a macabre need, perhaps survivor's guilt, among those who had lived through the Black Death.



                              The Three Living and the Three Dead,                              from the Psalter of Bonne of Luxembourg

Ranking somewhat lower on the Richter-scale of disaster, but still horrific, were the bloody Hundred Years War between France and England, a decades-long witch-hunting mania across Europe and the increasingly shrill religious controversies which culminated in Martin Luther's revolt against the Papacy in 1517.

In Autumntide, Huizinga indirectly addressed political and military events. He cautioned against trying to understand the late Middle Ages in terms of great battles or details of demographics and GDP.

"Civilization has just as much to do with dreams of beauty and illusions of the noble life," Huizinga wrote, "as it does with population and taxation figures."

The medieval "dream of beauty" was an understandable, in some ways commendable, response to life's hardships. Yet, its "illusions" concealed hidden dangers if taken to extremes. And that is exactly what transpired. In another, celebrated passage, Huizinga wrote:

The later Middle Ages is one of those end periods in which the cultural life of the higher circles has become almost entirely a parlour game. Real life is violent, hard and cruel; one reduces it to the beautiful dream of the chivalric ideal and builds on this the game of life. It is acted out behind the mask of Lancelot: it is a colossal self-deception.

It was because reality was so terrible that these rarefied forms of poetry, art and courtly manners should have been appreciated as a "parlour game." Reading between the lines, Huizinga astutely surmised that many of the more level-headed knew the "score." They played the "game" and then got on with life. Such realists understood that a jousting tournament between armored knights was not "real" warfare.



Ivory Plaque with Tournement Scene, c. 1320-1340

Yet it was hard to keep a sense of balance because the emotional climate of late Medieval Europe was one of extremes. Hysterical reaction to adversity was contrasted with manic or outlandish celebrations. Almost unbearable sensitivity alternated with unrestrained cruelty. 

The Europe-wide embrace of these "dreams of beauty and illusions of the noble life" was centered upon the Duchy of Burgundy. Located to the east of Paris on some of the most fertile lands of Western Europe, Burgundy was the heartland of Europe, both figuratively and politically. 

With the central control of the French monarchy weakened by war with England, the dukes of Burgundy sensed an opportunity to create a powerful realm of their own. Possessed of great wealth produced by the cities of Flanders under their control, the lords of Burgundy nearly succeeded.

Huizinga presumed that the readership of Autumntide would be familiar with the basic historical details of Medieval France and so did not provide a sustained narrative of Burgundy's rise and fall. However, English-speaking readers have often been at a disadvantage in respect to the chronology of French history. A brief summary might therefore be useful.

Burgundy's rise began when Philip the Bold received the Duchy of Burgundy from his father, King John of France, in 1361. Although he was John's youngest son, he proved the most capable. A skillful statesman, Philip transformed Burgundy into a powerful feudal state.

Philip died in 1404 and was succeeded by John the Fearless. As his nickname suggests, John was belligerent and ruthless, leading to his assassination in 1419. John's heir, Philip the Good, joined in an alliance with England against France, which made Burgundy even more of a power to be reckoned with. By the time Philip died in 1467, Burgundy was a de-facto kingdom of its own, stretching from its subject territories in present day Belgium and Holland down to central France.



Philip the Good (left) & Charles the Bold, from the Collection of Arras 

Philip's son, Charles, was nicknamed the "Bold" as his ancestor had been, but his rash courage proved to be Burgundy's undoing.

Charles had delusions of grandeur exceeding what even the vast financial resources of Burgundy could support. He was also a major devotee of the code of Chivalry. In a reckless series of wars, Charles threatened the reviving power of the French monarchy and incurred the enmity of the Swiss Confederation, whose pike-wielding infantrymen joined an alliance against him. At the Battle of Nancy in 1477, Charles suffered a resounding defeat and was killed in hand-to-hand combat.

 


The Fall of Lucifer, in the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry

Like the depiction of the fiery fall of Lucifer and his rebel angels in the Très Riches Heures of the Duke of Berry, the arrogant Charles and his armored paladins crashed to earth.

Why did Burgundy not succeed? Charles the Bold had a well-trained army and the latest in gunpowder-firing cannons. His weakness was a psychological dependency on a way of thought that failed to conceptualize the real world as it actually was. In embracing Chivalry, Charles marched to war with modern weapons and outmoded ideas.

Of the debilitating effects of Chivalry, Huizinga wrote:

Were statecraft and warfare actually swayed to some extent by chivalric ideas? Undoubtedly, if not in their virtues, then at least in their flaws. Just as the tragic mistakes of the present have sprung from the delusion of nationalism and cultural pride, so too the failings of the Middle Ages sprang more than once from the chivalric idea.

The "autumn" of the Middle Ages about which Huizinga wrote was matched by the "autumn" of the Europe of his times. While writing Autumntide in Leiden, Huizinga could occasionally glimpse the distant flashes of artillery fire which reduced the medieval city of Ypres, in nearby Belgium, to rubble. The almost continuous series of battles, beginning in mid-October 1914 and lasting to October 2, 1918, provided Huizinga with a vivid reminder of human folly as he worked on the final drafts of Autumntide

The Netherlands maintained neutrality, shielding it from the most devastating affects of the "Great" War I. Yet, the war's impact on Huizinga, a European scholar and astute political observer, was marked. Given the long lead-up to the conflict and the location of the main battle fronts in Belgium and northern France, it might seem natural for Huizinga to have chosen the passing of the Middle Ages as the focus of his research. Actually, Huizinga came somewhat late to the profession of history and then, only by an indirect path, to the study of the prideful, self-destructive Duchy of Burgundy. 

The young Huizinga was a brilliant linguist. In addition to several European languages, he was fluent in Sanskrit, had a working knowledge of Hebrew and Arabic and had studied Buddhism in considerable detail. When he did begin teaching history, he did so in a wide-ranging manner, without specializing in a specific era. When it came time to publish a major work, he seemed destined to write a great treatise on Asian history rather than a subject closer to home.



Poster for the Les Primitif Flamands Exhibition, 1902 

Then, in 1902, one of the great art exhibitions of all time was held in Bruges, Belgium. Les Primitif Flamands displayed 400 works by the early Flemish masters of the 1300's-1400's, including Hans Memling, Rogier van der Weyden and Jan van Eyck. Huizinga, accompanied by his lively, vivacious wife, Mary, who died tragically young in 1914, attended the exhibition.

Huizinga began thinking deeply on the paintings of van Eyck, van der Weyden and the others - which of course, were anything but primitif. Indeed, many scholars of Huizinga's day and later elevated these Flemish masters to the status of trend-setting innovators, equal in skill to the great Italian artists of the early Renaissance. This is still a valid conception, as can be seen in the notable book, The New Art of the Fifteenth Century by Shirley Neilsen, which I reviewed back in 2015.

Huizinga, however, came to a different conclusion. 

In a moment of epiphany while taking his afternoon walk, Huizinga realized that van Eyck's paintings, despite their realism and the revolutionary implications of painting in oil, were medieval masterpieces. Van Eyck's Ghent Alterpiece and other works represented the consummation of the civilization of the Middle Ages rather than the opening act of the Renaissance.


Jan van Eyck, Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife, 1434 (and detail)

We would like to think of Jan van Eyck as an early example of the Renaissance individualist. After all, his signature on the portrait, Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife, is still clearly visible: Johannes de eyck fuit hic, 1434. Jan van Eyck was here. In painting a work for a patron like Arnolfini, an Italian merchant and a personal friend, van Eyck could make his personal mark. But painting for his noble master, the Duke of Burgundy, was an entirely different matter.

When van Eyck served the Duke or a high-ranking Church official, he did so in the capacity of a servant.  He was a highly regarded and well-paid one to be sure, but still a servant. He and contemporaries like Rogier van der Weyden and Hans Memling were tasked to emphasize splendor rather than beauty in works for noble patrons. For the Church, a complex code of symbolism ruled what could be painted.


Hans Memling, The Annunciation, c. 1465-70

As Huizinga astutely realized, the Flemish painters' astonishing mastery of the material details of their subjects - the texture of brocade cloth, the shimmer of silk, the polished surface of an armor breastplate - reflected the hierarchical code of the Middle Ages. 

In a passage toward the end of the book, Huizinga pronounced that "Art from the end of the Middle Ages faithfully reflects the spirit of the end of the Middle Ages, a spirit that had reached the end of its path."

That might seem so evident as to be beside the point. In fact, it is a key insight. 

The forms of life - technology, finance, social relationships - during the 1300's-1400's were undergoing rapid, revolutionary, change. The printing press, double-entry accounting, linear perspective in art... the list of major innovations of the era is impressive. Yet, like Charles the Bold with his state-of-the-art artillery and medieval tactics at the Battle of Nancy, Europe's power elite could neither comprehend nor control the vast changes taking place.

Huizinga concluded that the next historical epoch began, not with a dramatic event or sequence of events, but rather with a mood change, a mental re-orientation. "The Renaissance comes only," he wrote, "when the tone of life turns..."

It took quite a while for leaders all over Europe to come to grips with this change in the "tone of life."

Ironically, Huizinga himself grappled with a variation of this problem - how to describe it in the title of his book.

As he neared the publication date, Huizinga struggled on what to call his book. As Graham Small notes in his excellent essay on Huizinga, the perplexed author kept choosing and rejecting titles before finally selecting Herfsttij der Middeleeuwen or Autumn of the Middle Ages. It was just the beginning of long, eventful publication career for Huizinga's classic work.

Huizinga's "big book on Burgundy" was finally published in early 1919, during the uneasy interim between the Armistice of November 1918 and the signing of the Versailles Peace Treaty on June 28, 1919. Herfsttij was translated and published in England in 1924, in what is regarded as a very accomplished, though abridged, translation. The title was changed to The Waning of the Middle Ages


Cover art for earlier U.S. editions of Autumntide of the Middle Ages

"Waning" is an odd, somewhat unsettling word, as if civilizations go through phases like the moon. The French translation used the more comprehensible "Decline" to express what happened to medieval society during its last century. But perhaps most bizarrely, the French waited until 1932 to publish Le Déclin du Moyen Age, even though its main focus was on Burgundy, the French speaking communities of Belgium and the overarching society and culture of France itself.

Huizinga kept working on further editions of Herfsttij/Autumntide until the one published in 1941. By then, Nazi Germany had invaded the Netherlands. Huizinga published articles critical of the Third Reich, even as the Wehrmacht's jackbooted troops occupied Holland. Huizinga was arrested in 1942 and ousted from his professorship at Leiden University. Placed under virtual house arrest, he died on February 1, 1945, during the "hunger winter" which preceded the Allied liberation.

On a personal note, I must say that reading Autumntide of the Middle Ages during a year marked by a horrifying pandemic and by political turmoil has been a sobering, yet somehow reassuring experience. I struggled reading The Waning of the Middle Ages during college. Now in the "autumn" of my life, I can only marvel at the extraordinary insights of its brilliant, courageous author.

One hundred years ago, Johan Huizinga wrote a masterful book about a bygone era which yielded cogent reflections for his own time - and "food for thought" for ours. 

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved                                              

Introductory Image:                                                                              Cover Art of Autumntide of the Middle Ages, courtesy of the University of Leiden © University of Leiden

The Garden of Love, from the Romance of the Rose, c. 1490-1500. Manuscript. British Library. Harley MSS. 4425  https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/roman-de-la-rose

Title page of Autumntide of the Middle Ages, by Johan Huizinga, published by the University of Leiden, 2020

Jean Le Noir ((French, active 1331–75-attributed to) The Three Living and the Three Dead, from the Psalter of Bonne of Luxembourg, before 1349.Tempera, grisaille, ink, and gold on vellum: individual folios: 4 15/16 x 3 9/16 in. (12.6 x 9 cm). Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection, 1969. #69.86

Ivory Plaque with Tournement Scene, c. 1320-1340. Ivory: 3 7/8 x 6 15/16 x 1/4 in. (9.8 x 17.6 x 0.7 cm) Metropolitan Museum of Art.Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917. # 17.190.256


Philippe le Bon and Charles le Téméraire, extract from the Collection of Arras (ms. 266), work attributed to Jacques Le Boucq, 16th century, Arras, municipal media library. © Arras Media Library

Limbourg Brothers (French, 1400-1416) The Fall of Lucifer, in the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, Folio 64 verso. Illuminated manuscript. Musee Conde.  

Poster for the Les Primitif Flamands Exhibition, 1902. Bruges collections, Musea Brugge.  https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Les_Primitifs_Flamands_poster.jpg

Jan van Eyck (Flemish, active 1422; died 1441) Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife, 1434. Oil on oak: 82.2 x 60 cm. National Gallery of Art, London. Purchased, 1842, # NG42

Hans Memling (Netherlandish, active by 1465–died 1494) The Annunciation, c. 1465–70. Oil on wood: 73 1/4 x 45 1/4 in. (186.1 x 114.9 cm) Metropolitan museum of Art. Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917 #17.190.7

Cover art for earlier U.S. editions of Autumntide of the Middle Ages